Healing
by SKIN READY
Summary: It's Muraki's birthday... but it... sucks...! Poor Kazutaka is depressed and needs a serious self esteem boost, but who will be there to help him? Read and find out! Rated for hints at Shounen Ai


Healing

**Author's Note #1: **Yes, it's Muraki's birthday, so I had to write something! He's 43 today, but I love him anyway! I hope you all like the story, so please don't flame me!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Yami no Matsuei, because, if I did, Tsuzuki and Hisoka would both be wearing rings on their left ring fingers! (And, so would Tatsumi and Watari, and Muraki and Oriya!)

On with the story, and please excuse any inaccuracies!!!

* * *

A month.

That's how long it had been: _one whole month._

One month since the fire.

One month since the last time the Shinigami had been seen.

One month since the destruction of Saki's head.

One moth since the last time he had seen Oriya.

One month since all being lost.

Muraki Kazutaka trudged though the snow as it fell around him.

Since the fire, he hadn't eaten slept, or in any way nourished himself much, and it was beginning to take its toll on his body.

His body was beginning to suffer, and his thoughts were becoming more and more unfocused.

He walked into a bar—alcohol had been pretty much the only thing he had ingested lately, and he didn't feel like breaking the pattern.

He had never been anything anyone could call an alcoholic and, besides his obsessions with certain shinigami (and, of course, his brother) along with his masochism, he had never been addicted to anything in his life.

Muraki wasn't sure what he ordered, but the bartender apparently did, because, before he knew it, there was a glass of some beverage sitting in front of him.

He stared at the glass for a moment, as if expecting it to do some sort of amazing trick for him, but when it didn't, he grabbed it and took a long drink.

He looked up as he waited for the liquid to affect his body.

Behind the bar was a small day-to-day calendar.

Muraki squinted in an attempt to read the letters and numbers.

De…cem…ber…

December.

Good. Half way there.

A number.

Looks like a triangle…

With a leg…

Legs…

Bodies…

Cloning…

Saki.

Muraki sighed, feeling defeated.

Don't _think of that!_ He told himself. _You're acting like an idiot._

To get his mind off of the depressing topics, he looked back at the calendar.

Fourth.

That's what the date was: December 4.

Something clicked in his mind… but it didn't reach its destination.

December fourth _meant something_…

But what?

He racked his brain, trying to figure it out.

Something important…

Something…

Oh…

That's what it was…

_My birthday…_

Muraki took another sip of his drink, but, this time, his mind was registering thoughts

…T_his drink is _terrible… _Why did I order it?_

He rested his head on his hands and sighed again.

What had happened?

Muraki Kazutaka, the famous—_or infamous_, his mind added—doctor, reduced to forgetting his own _birthday_.

He was considered to be a genius—a man _every _man wanted to be… the man _every_ woman wanted to be with…

What had happened to that man?

The man who brought hope to unsuspecting victims and terror to those who understood their predicament…

Gone…

He finished his drink in one gulp.

A weaker man would have cried beneath the pain he carried on his shoulders, seemingly without notice—but he _did_ notice.

He was in _so_ much pain… and nothing was helping…

His head hurt, too…

In fact, his entire body either hurt or was too numb from weakness to feel any pain.

_Yes… that truly is the right question… "What happened to me?" _He said to himself. _And why, _why_ did I allow it to happen?_

He left a wad of money on the table—he knew it was too much, but his mind didn't feel like counting.

He stood and walked out of the bar.

The snow was still falling quietly outside.

One snowy night in January…

The patient…

Committed suicide…

…And died…

…But…

…He didn't die…

…He continued to live…

...As a shinigami…

Muraki shook his head to clear it—once again—of the terrible thoughts.

He allowed his eyes to travel upwards, to look at the sky.

His thoughts wandered again, but he embraced the memories that came…

He met two people on a snowy day…

One destroyed his life…

One helped him keep it going…

He thought of the day Saki entered his life.

_It was snowing, and he had gotten home late from school, thanks to his idiot teacher._

_When he got home, his parents were waiting for him._

"_We've been waiting for you." His father had said. "I want you to meet someone." _

_His father walked into the house._

_Kazutaka looked at his mother._

_Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyebrows drawn together._

Mother's angry._ Kazutaka knew it. He made a habit of studying human behavior, and her body language was practically screaming "bad mood". _

I wonder what happened…

_They stopped at a closed door._

"_Kazutaka…" His father said. "You have a brother."_

_He couldn't have heard that right. _

"_He's only a few months older than you… so you ought to get along pretty well…"_

_Children can't be born a few months away from each other… It's physically impossible for a woman to have children less than a year apart!_

_Kazutaka opened his mouth a few times before the words finally passed his lips._

"_H… How!?"_

_His father was silent for a moment before his mother looked up. "Go ahead, _darling,_" the word was spoken with more venom in it than he had ever heard his mother use. "Tell him about your… _child_."_

_His father glared at his mother. "I… I had an affair… with one of my patients… just before you were conceived."_

_He looked at the door before stepping to it. "Kazutaka… this is Saki." He said as he turned the knob._

Muraki thought back on that moment with hatred. _The moment all happiness was stripped from my life._

He thought back again, to the other meeting in the snow.

_It was a blizzard. The cold cut through you, and no number of layers could stop it._

_He looked at the playground._

_It was empty… good…_

Children should stay inside in this weather,_ he said to himself_. Otherwise, they'll get sick…

_He looked at the playground once more before switching his attention to the small pocketknife he held in his hand._

_It was sharp enough to cut—a trait he needed._

_He flipped the blade out with his thumb before holding it to his palm._

_The cut was long and bled quite a bit…_

…_but it wasn't enough._

_It didn't _hurt _enough._

_He pulled his wrist out of his sleeve and pressed his knife to the soft skin._

_Taking a deep, he readied his muscles and—_

"_You shouldn't do that." A voice said. "You might kill yourself."_

_Kazutaka spun around and glared at the speaker._

_He was a boy who looked to be Kazutaka's age, and he was dressed in heavy winter clothing. His long brown hair spilled down his back. _

"_That's kind of the point." Kazutaka retorted, "I _want_ to die."_

_The long-haired boy snorted. "I hardly believe that."_

_Kazutaka's glare deepened in hatred. "Why should I care?"_

"_Is it that you want to die… or that you're just tired of living?"_

"_What does it matter?"_

"_You can never accomplish anything if you're dead… and you don't strike me as someone to lay back and do nothing."_

_Kazutaka looked away. Why did this guy have to interfere?_

"_If you really want to die, I'll leave." The boy said. "I just don't really want to see a life wasted before my eyes without my trying to prevent it being lost."_

_When Kazutaka didn't reply, the boy turned. "The choice is yours."_

_Having lost all interest in death, Kazutaka dropped his arm, and the knife with it._

_The boy was walking away, towards a small house._

"_Wait!" Kazutaka called. He didn't know _why _he did, but he had. "What's your name?"_

_The boy turned and smiled. "Mibu Oriya." _

"_Thank you," Kazutaka said. "I… I didn't think anyone cared anymore…" He turned to walk away._

"_You never told me your name." The boy—no, _Oriya_ called._

_Kazutaka looked away, embarrassed at his own rudeness. "Muraki Kazutaka."_

"_It was nice meeting you, Kazutaka-san." Oriya said, turning to walk home. "I hope we meet again."_

Oriya.

Muraki missed him so much.

Oriya had kept him sane (or, as sane as he would ever get) for so long, but Muraki only ever used him.

To him, Oriya was just another toy… Just like Tsuzuki… just like the Shinigami Boy.

Muraki wanted to see Oriya, but how could he?

He had _failed!_

His _reason for living_ was _gone!_

He remembered, in Touda's flames, the Boy asking Tsuzuki to live for him.

To allow him to be Tsuzuki's reason for living.

Could he, Muraki Kazutaka, a cold-hearted, evil, _sociopath, _find someone who was willing to be his reason to live?

Was there anyone like that?

He sighed.

No.

There was no one like that.

Muraki realized he had stopped walking, and when he tried to lift his foot, he realized his foot didn't want to move.

Somehow, he willed his leg to lift, but when his foot touched the ground, it couldn't support his weight, and he ended up falling to the ground.

Muraki cursed under his breath.

Apparently, his lack of food was deciding to take effect at the worst time possible.

"Muraki?" He heard a voice behind.

Great. Someone knew him, too…

The whole _day_ was going badly.

As he began to turn, nausea took over and his stomach stopped liking the liquid currently inhabiting it.

"Muraki, is that you?"

He tried to turn once again, but everything turned black before he saw the person talking to him.

He only heard the person call out…

"Kazutaka!"

Muraki woke to the smell of incense and tea.

He looked around groggily. He knew the room he was in… but what was it?

There was a log fire crackling in the corner of the room, and a chair was placed near it.

Muraki looked up from the futon he was laying in so he could see who was in the chair.

Up… up…

Long, muscular legs… covered with cloth… cloth… pretty… lots of colors… Arms… Also muscular… Hands, too… with scars… Hair… long, brown… lips… thin, masculine… smirking…

"I see you're finally awake."

"Oriya…"

So _that's _who that had been before.

He tried to sit and failed. He was too weak.

"You shouldn't try to move. You have very little energy… something I didn't think possible until a few hours ago…"

Muraki glared at him.

"Your sarcasm never dies, does it, Oriya?"

Oriya smiled. "No. And neither do you."

Muraki looked away, but didn't reply.

"When was the last time you ate?" Oriya asked, standing.

"Does it matter?" Muraki retorted.

Oriya gave him a knowing glance. "You, as a doctor, ought to know _that._"

Muraki sighed. "It's normal for a suicidal person to malnourish themself."

Oriya sat next to him. "I know what happened at your lab. I know Saki's head was destroyed."

The silver-haired man scoffed. "Then you know my life is now meaningless."

"I thought I told you when we met. Your life is _not_ meaningless. Your life is very, very important."

"To who?" Muraki asked. "Because it sure as hell isn't important to me."

The next thing Muraki knew, Oriya was over him, a fistful of his shirt in either of the man's hands.

"I am tired of this self-pity act you've been pulling." Oriya growled. "You have never acted this way before, and I'm not about to let you start now."

"This is the first time I've ever needed to pity myself," Muraki told him.

"That doesn't mean you can go out and get yourself killed."

Muraki rolled his eyes at this. "I wasn't going to be killed. I was going to curl up somewhere and die, thank you very much."

"Luckily for you," Oriya said between gritted teeth, "'somewhere' just happened to be at my feet, so you _didn't_ die."

"I don't know if I consider that luck."

"I don't care what you do or don't consider luck. All I care is that you're alive."

Muraki looked away again. He didn't want this. He didn't want Oriya to care if he died. He didn't want to be alive. He didn't want to remember anymore. He didn't want—

"There you go. Pitying yourself again."

"Why do care so much?" Muraki asked. "You can't possibly have a good reason!"

"I care because I want to care." Replied the other man as he let go of his friend's collar.

"Why do you want to care?"

"Because…" Oriya said, standing. "You need someone to care about you."

Muraki had nothing to say to that.

But his mind went back to the Shinigami.

"_Please… stay… live for me… Because I don't want to be alone anymore…"_

"_Can I stay here?"_

_No words… just a nod._

"Oriya…"It was hardly a whisper.

"Yes?"

"Can…"

Was that him, _Muraki Kazutaka,_ being _shy!?_

_It's not shyness!_ Muraki yelled in his mind, but he couldn't figure out exactly _what_ it was.

"Can you be my reason for living?"

Oriya turned, apparent confusion drawn on his elegant features. "What?"

"Saki's gone, and I don't have a reason to live. Will you be my reason?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice.

Oriya walked over and sat next to Muraki on the futon.

"I will if you allow it."

Muraki could have cried at that moment.

He reached up and pulled his friend-his only friend-into a warm hug. "Thank you. I… I don't know what I would have done… if you had said no…"

"I am your friend, and that's what friends are for." Oriya said as he ran a hand through silver locks.

Oriya looked up, as if remembering something.

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot."

Muraki looked up, almost fearful of what his friend would say.

"Happy birthday, Kazutaka."

And, for once, it _was_ a happy birthday.

* * *

**Author's Note #2:** Yup! Done!

TEN PAGES!!!!!!

One long oneshot, but (I hope) a good one, nonetheless...

Again, constructive critisism is appreciated, but flames will be put on the sonder's computer chair.


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